The Hidden Works Vol. III: The Chaotic Axis
'' A delving into the Grynee Man's influence over history ''by The Third Turn '' Greetings readers, I write this for those of you who are all too aware that somethings are very wrong with this world and that nothing can be done without the right foresight. No doubt this novel will be found hidden within the mold of what ever library or repository you have found yourself in, but it will not deter me nor should it you. But who am I you ask? I am but a simple person of meager means with nothing exceptional other then I am the wrong man in the right place at the wrong time. But no doubt you see through my attempts at vague misdirections, so suffice to say that I was once like you, but now too much has happen, too wide have my eyes been opened, and for too long have I evaded death. I am the point in a match that determines how events unfold, I am the moment of cross examination, I am the third turn of every game.'' '' Last we met readers, we were speaking about the largely ignored Oro'moor clan and their questionable rituals; I told you that knowledge of the source of the Oro'moor's corruption, how little did I truly know then. This origination point isn't some wayward wizard, illicit drug, or primal remedy; it is a part of something bigger. But before I explain I must tell you that the liquid I acquired is now gone, taken by Oro'moor drawn to it. They came during the night and spoke as if it was whispering to them, then summarily ignited my study with stolen magic. Needless to say, I had to rebuild and piece together my research; with much of my time spent in the field as repairs were made.'' '' Sadly, I found myself at an impasse with no clear leads short of suicidally storming an Oro'moor gathering, but something came to me as I returned to some of my past ventures. It was during one of my treks back out to the Aq'Ryss homeland that I spotted, of all things, a manticore; mythical beasts rarely seen and known for their deceptive and chaotic nature. But they were known to roam on the lush mainland areas around Faeland Plateau, not out in some remote desert. Curiosity provoked, I attempted to follow the beast, it seemly more focused on its destination and less on tricking some wayward traveler into becoming its meal. For days it continued to travel further north, the worry that my chase would end with my target flying over the mountains was ever present in my mind. I found myself back in the Oro'moor region as I tracked the beast, it wasn't long before I realized that we were not alone. The distant primal roar of additional manticores echoed across the mountainside and flying far away from my position, but all heading north. As I felt less inclined to follow for fear of entrapment, my original target landed, along with the others heard earlier and a sudden realization struck me dumbfounded. I recognised one of my own markers from my last journey out here, the one I had left outside the Oro'moor cave where I found the strange liquid, and where the manticores were now gathering.'' '' My inquisitive nature proving dominant over self-preservation, I snuck into the cave; within a handful of manticores crammed tightly around the small grotto of the unknown substance. They spoke in a language even I didn't recognise, the noise filled the chamber until I thought my mind would burst. Suddenly, their chanting stopped and a green fog filled the cave, emitting from both the pool and the manticores' fanged maws. They started speaking to the grotto one by one as the cave walls would vibrate in between their long pauses. As their ritual seemed to end, the water of the grotto swelled and began rising out of its bed, flooding above the manticores' massive paws and slowly flowing towards the cave's opening where I was watching. I fled, not looking back and with no thoughts on why I felt I needed to leave, just that any longer duration would have turned sour.'' '' Needing to clear my mind and take time to relax, I took a sabbatical, but nearby Nokana incrusions forced me to settle in Khorrum for the time being. Living in a small village just north of Forn'Baes, spending my time painting the wildlife, meeting some of my Dramer colleagues trading with the local Mhenuur, and doing some minor research on the architecture of the city. During one of my sunset painting sessions I spotted something I was severely hoping was a mirage, a manticore. This time it was clearly watching me, but rather then terror freezing my blood, I was befuddled, what looked at me from the thicket wasn't an imposing Manticore, but rather a tiny cub, more lion then man and with wings and tail too immature to be a danger. While still wary of the little beastie, my mind raced with exhiliration, over all the ages, never once has anyone reported the sighting of any other kind of manticore other then seemly adult males. Even early studies done by magic societies now gone had only found that the beasts were magical in nature and likely didn't age or reproduce; aisde from the occasional rape case, but such sources were either deemed acts done for the sake of terrorizing or simple false witch hunt cases perpetrated by indecent men.'' '' While lost in thought, I failed to notice that it had gingerly crept closer to me and that it had some form of mechanical collar around its neck. When it seemed content that I wouldn't attack it, it spoke in a weak and depressioning voice, one of a child beaten and looking for any indication of approval. "Will you help me, weird hairy man?" it asked; it took a moment before I found my voice, "What do you need help from?" It looked down at the ground in a what I can only equate to an automatic response of submission. "The dead-ones took me from the water and put this thing on me," it turned its neck to show the machine around its neck, smoke stained some of his fur and the some of the metallic plates were exposed, revealing some unknown collections of fibers that looked to be emitting magical energy. Against my better judgement, I promised to free him in return for never speaking of me to his kind and for some information about his brethren. After some tinkering, and mild shocks, I freed the cub from the collar; piecing together that the only "dead ones" with this level of magical technology could only be the necromantic enemies of the local Mhenuur, the Wurxith. I asked him the most pressing question on my mind, how was he born, something that took some time to coax out of him, "The elders say we were once like everyone else, but are better, baptized in his clean..sing sea and born of pure form," it said in an awkward practiced monotone. '' '' When prompted on who "He" was, it said, "The Hungry Father of Good Fortune," to which I threatened to put the collar back on and got a subsequent, "The Grynee Man." A name I have heard from Mhenuur for some unknown past assailant in their past, something not surprising given the Mhenuur's depiction of him. But I had a hunch, or rather I had a feeling that I was close to something, so I asked if this "Father" had any other names, among them were extremely familiar titles: The Grynn of the Two Corners, a name given to a self-proclaimed prophet in early Trynric history that rumoredly predicted the onslaught of a plague that reached epidemic porportions within the pre-Cabal Trynra nations. And another, more recently known to me, "The Grynik Mist" a name I had recently heard when speaking to Oro'kaal on the topic of the Oro'moor; better known as "The Hunger of the Mist."'' '' I maintained my composure, but deep down my mind was racing; I made the decision to entrap the manticore for further questioning. To this day "Gworny" remains with me, content with its new home without fear harm and only seldom speaks of leaving; I'm starting to wonder if the manticore's temperment was less from being found at an early age, but rather because the Wurxith had conditioned him to be forth coming on any information. Our time has given me great insight in many topics of interest, particularly about the manticore as a whole. '' '' They're not born, but rather reborn, from sentient people; Gworny was once a young Mhenuur pup by the name of "Gwor Cthif Buor'Vask" in a village outside what is known as "The Wurxith Ravine," but he shows no interest in returning to his village, though he enjoys his former people's culture, especially the Night of Fire's Ascent.'' That aside, this rebirth all manticore undergo is very similar to the Oro'moor rituals, with the Aq'Ryss magical biology being the only thing that prevents them from changing in a similar manner. '' The so-called Hunger of the Mist is by no means some concotion brewed by some ageless warlock, it is the summoned essence of this phantasmal Grynee Man, with consumption being closer to a full spiritual possession rather than artificial disease. It's all conjecture on my part, but far too many things connect in my mind: the first sightings of manticore on the mainland was shortly after the rumored time of the plague on the early Trynra, they fell into legend only to become commonplace after third century of the Zenith Era, right after the rumored time of when the Mhenuur overthrew the Grynee Man, and have only become more prevalent as the Aq'Ryss, or more importantly the Oro'moor, have migrated across the mainland. '' '' I believe that these Oro'moor rituals, these wellspring beacons that truly do whisper to those entranced, instill a great hunger in the consumer. For the average mortal, they become hungry for the thing craved in their first life as not all manticore are known to actively consume flesh. Tales and rumors have come to me about these beasts that horde vast wealth in their dens and others that do indeed hunt in a frenzied lust. So while most Oro'moor crave magic, the other races with less predisposed biologies are at the mercy of their primal desires; from my dialogues with Gworny, I believe that his hunger was that of a jealous child and was likely responsible for a tragedy in his village's past.'' '' Regardless, this Grynee Man has touched many lives in the worst way with potential crimes being changing the direction of entire races, whether it be by imprisoning the Mhenuur for centuries, setting the Oro'moor on a path of self-destruction, and possibly pushing the Trynra down the path that turned the majority of them to insanity. I'll admit that this topic isn't an easy one for myself, so I salute the enduring reader that still lingers into my ramblings and what is less of a cautionary tome and more of an abstract form of puzzled history imbued with my personal journal. So I say to you, my ally of the most enduring soul, keep watch for the ilk of this once scoffed boogieman as he won't likely stay dormant forever...'' ''Be Sure, Be Silent, Be Wary'' '' '' Category:Books